


Dionysus For The Evening

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consent, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, M/M, consent is important, drunk!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Enjorlas, our dear and brilliant leader,” Jehan began with a hint of sarcasm that made Enjolras petulantly stick out his tongue in the poet’s direction. “Instructed us this evening to… keep an eye on him… yes, keep an eye on him while he partook in an ultimately fruitless and hopelessly foolish endeavour.”</p><p>“Which was to ridiculously consume every drink I’ve tried to drink this evening,” Grantaire confirmed.</p><p>Or the one in which Enjolras is a flirty drunk and Grantaire is unfortunately sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dionysus For The Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [meanttobeclever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/meanttobeclever/pseuds/meanttobeclever) and [thenarglecharm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thenarglecharm/pseuds/thenarglecharm) for actually encouraging me to finish this after it sat lost and abandoned in a subfolder for many months.

Grantaire was late. Intentionally so. And not fashionably late as some would say to shrug off their lack of punctuality, but strategically arriving an hour late to a party he had been invited to such that no one would notice his arrival.

It was this or arrive early, but frankly, he didn’t know Courfeyrac well enough, and the extra hour gave him time to pre-drink.

Not too much though, Grantaire thought, staring at the unexpectedly plain door with a charred number etched into the wood. He wasn’t wasting his own alcohol on this. He had paid for that, the price for enough confidence to make it this far. He was here for the free alcohol, and my God, was he going to get his fill.

He quietly reminded himself he was also here to see people. Well, to be honest, he was here to see someone.

He could hear the din of voices echoing out into the hall through the wood, and he elected to just slip inside. The door was unlocked. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he immediately found a dark corner to hide away in. But footsteps still approached.

Grantaire turned sharply and wide-eyed at whoever approached, a child caught red handed. The guilt started to settle in the bottom of his stomach, and he thought about how he was going to have to skip straight to the heavy stuff before that feeling got any worse.

But Courfeyrac just smiled at him warmly, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You made it!” Courfeyrac said, waving wildly with the bottle in his hand. Grantaire’s eyes followed the bottle rather than his friend’s face. Judging by Courfeyrac’s breath, Grantaire presumed it was red wine. Not strong enough. With a friendly shove, Courfeyrac forced Grantaire into the main room where everyone was gathered.

“R’s here!” Courfeyrac cried, raising his bottle in toast and drinking straight from it.

With a trip, Grantaire stumbled in and tensed at drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. He knew everyone here well enough, but that didn’t stop his flight reflex from kicking in at being the centre of attention. Some of the Amis followed Courfeyrac’s suit and toasted the resident cynic’s arrival. Others just smiled and returned to their conversations.

As his mouth dried, Grantaire scanned the room for alcohol, but his eyes settled instead on Enjolras. Their fearless leader, dressed in shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and unbuttoned halfway, was draped in his seat in a way reserved for the artists of antiquity. All romanticized ideal lit perfectly by the glow of fairy lights hung haphazardly around the dim room. Enjolras met his gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow with a soft smirk that Grantaire drank up eagerly, warming to the tips of his fingers. He was saved from having to remind himself he was staring by Eponine, who snuck up behind him and forced his head in her direction.

“Never seen you so _distracted_ ,” she teased in hushed tones, slipping a glass carefully into his hand. He looked down. Vodka. Gin maybe, but probably vodka. This was more like it. He squeezed her hand in thanks as she moved away, swirling the colourless liquid in his glass before raising it to take a drink. He could smell the alcohol and braced himself for the burn that would inevitably follow, when the glass disappeared from his hand. He whirled to see who had snatched it from his lips, only to follow the form of Enjolras as he walked away from him, downing the contents in one go.

Courfeyrac scoffed, his face a mask of drunken disbelief.

“Apollo, what the fuck?” Grantaire called after him, clearly confused.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder at Grantaire and frowned, spinning the empty glass on the table.

“I told you not to call me that,” was the only reply as Enjolras settled into a conversation with Combferre.

Reeling, Grantaire shook his head. Enjolras may hate every ounce of his cynical being, but that was bold, even for him. Enjolras understood Grantaire’s relationship with alcohol. He tried to shake it off and turned his back on the blond.

Courfeyrac caught him by the shoulders and just smiled sympathetically at him, offering up the three quarters finished bottle of red wine in his hand. Grantaire clapped him on the arm and accepted the offering. It was a start.

“Than-” Grantaire started, but was cut off by a sudden “Nope!” muttered in his right ear as a hand snaked over his shoulder and snatched the bottle from his hands.

Grantaire turned to again see Enjolras, now with the bottle, take a hearty swig and return to the conversation with Combferre. Combferre just smiled and shook his head. Courfeyrac chased after him.

“Hey! That was mine!” Courfeyrac complained as he stumbled into Enjolras.

Grantaire couldn’t figure out his problem. Why was Enjolras so keen on taking his alcohol? It was starting to become suspicious.

To test his theory, Grantaire walked up to Eponine and took the bottle of beer she had in her hand, Eponine relinquishing it willingly without question. Grantaire walked to the middle of the room, only to be greeted with Enjolras a few seconds later. Their leader motioned to take the bottle and Grantaire slipped it behind his back.

“What’s your problem, ‘Pollo?” Grantaire muttered at him. This close to Enjolras, Grantaire could see some of the effects of the alcohol he had already drank. He wouldn’t call Enjolras tipsy by any stretch of the word, but he was certainly not his rigid moral self.

Instead he looked down at Grantaire with hooded eyes full of determination, and took a step closer to him until they were so close they could be touching. Grantaire realized he had stopped breathing about five minutes ago, but somehow he didn’t care. Enjolras leaned his head forward until it was inches from Grantaire’s ear, nearly stopping his poor heart, and reached around him to slip the beer bottle from his fingers.

“Perhaps I fancy myself a Dionysus for the evening,” Enjolras replied with such an intense degree of suaveness that it made Grantaire swoon. He would have dropped the bottle had Enjolras not taken it from him.

Everything was suddenly cold as Enjolras brushed past Grantaire and finished the contents of the bottle, tossing the empty back to Eponine, who caught it almost expectantly.

Grantaire rushed to regain control of himself and scoured his brain for something witty to say. He was better at this when alcohol inhibited all his other functions.

“Does that mean the position of Apollo is open?” he managed to call back sarcastically. Enjolras just shrugged nonchalantly and greeted Joly.

The evening became a trying game of cat and mouse. The buzz of his pre-drinking long worn off, Grantaire tried sitting sober, until his mind caught up with him and he went in pursuit of something to make him forget. And then try to consume it without Enjolras noticing.

He opened his sketchbook in a quiet corner of the room and tried drawing for a while. The lines and curves would mold into familiar faces, and he would remember just how close Enjolras was moments before. He would find the bottle of bourbon. (seriously, Bourbon? Who even bought this stuff? In retrospect, Grantaire assumed it was probably Bahorel) And Enjolras took it.

He would try having a conversation with Joly, or Bousset, or Feuilly, and while they had things in common, no conversation really piqued Grantaire’s interest. They passionately reamed out debates and Grantaire simply watched and felt estranged. Like he didn’t belong, or he wasn’t wanted. He felt a bit empty. He found the bottle of vodka Eponine must have found earlier. Enjolras took it from him.

He sat alone and watched the eyes of everyone in the room flick over him. He picked at his clothes and his hair, unkempt and wild, marked with paint stains of bold colours. He felt… not good enough. Lazy. Too different. His mind raced until it ached, miles a minute through everything he knew and didn’t want to remember, and his hands felt restless, edgy. He tried drawing again and couldn’t, his hands shaking. He tried to ignore hearing the sound of his name in other people’s conversations, whispered quietly as though he couldn’t hear him. The later the night got, the more Grantaire swore he heard his name on Enjolras’ lips, only to be quietly shushed by his friends around him. Grantaire talked it up to just delirious hopefulness.

He tried to remind himself that this was why he was a pessimist, but who was he kidding? There was nothing in this universe that Grantaire believed in so completely as Enjolras.

In a last desperate effort to get _something_ in his system, he swiped a flask off Bahorel he just _knew_ was filled with moonshine. Enjolras still somehow managed to catch him, despite how tipsy he was starting to get, and took a swig completely unexpectedly. The shock put him out for five minutes, enough time for Grantaire to slip into the bathroom and get in at least a shot of tequila without their leader noticing.

But it wasn’t enough. He pulled up a seat next to Eponine, who was still deep in conversation with Muschetta, and tried to ignore the emptiness in his hands. And the clarity of his thoughts. And the sinking feeling in his stomach. And the way it would turn upside down at the slightest catch of Enjolras’ _glow_ out of the corner of his eye, and the way Enjolras was _looking at him_. Grantaire had often come to the conclusion that there was nothing closer to madness than sobriety. It was making him see things.

Drawing his feet up onto his chair, he tried to curl in on himself, his arms wrapping around his knees. Maybe he could just contain his emotions he wouldn’t explode. With a few deep breaths he managed to calm himself enough to acknowledge Jehan when his arm was nudged.

“Hey R,” Jehan said softly, leaning his head on Grantaire’s arm. “You alright?”

“Fucking perfect,” Grantaire bit back. He had meant it to be sarcastic, but Jehan flinched at the bitter words. “Sorry, sorry, how are you?”

The way Jehan had been glancing at Courfeyrac for most of the evening had not escaped Grantaire’s unusually sober notice. What also hadn’t escaped him was the way Courfeyrac looked back when Jehan wasn’t looking. Grantaire had spent an unnecessary amount of time this evening worrying about them.

Turning his head to look up at Grantaire through his foppish hair Jehan said, “I read a poem the other day I think you’ll really like.”

“Is that so?” Grantaire tried to smile back. “Is it full of darkness and hopelessness?”

Jehan didn’t laugh, but went on the defensive, stuttering and sputtering his way through an in depth analysis of a poem that Grantaire hadn’t even read yet. Or maybe Jehan was reciting the poem to him. Grantaire wouldn’t have known the difference. But the rhythmic flow of Jehan’s voice was soothing and Grantaire let him talk. When he thought he had convinced Jehan of his undivided attention, he stood and motioned Jehan to follow him to the kitchen where Grantaire renewed his search for spirits. It was like a familiar dance while Jehan prattled on about metaphor and symbolism and the importance of the written word.

Grantaire gripped the counter angrily when he couldn’t find anything strong enough, grimacing and hanging his head. He must have gotten Enjolras to drink through most of the bar by this point. He was surprised it hadn’t killed him yet. He didn’t take their leader to be able to hold that much liquor. But he had forced himself not to watch. Perhaps Enjolras wasn’t drinking it all himself. Their leader would still have to be pretty drunk at this point, though. His poor liver, Grantaire thought absently.

It suddenly hit him then that Jehan had stopped talking. Grantaire risked a glance in his friend’s direction.

Jehan was watching him hesitantly, his head tilted slightly to the side in thought. Then he looked away abruptly, examining his shoes.

“I shouldn’t,” Jehan said softly. “I promised.”

“What?” Grantaire asked confused, his voice rougher than he would like.

“Fuck it,” Jehan swore bitterly. “One night won’t change anything, I told him that.”

Jehan turned and reached into an upper cupboard. He pulled out an ice bucket, and opening that, pulled out a box. Inside the box was a full bottle of brandy.

Grantaire immediately took a step towards Jehan but resisted the urge to reach out.

“Take it. It was mine anyways,” Jehan said, passing the bottle to Grantaire who took it eagerly.

Closing the gap between Jehan and himself, Grantaire reached out and held Jehan’s head in his hand, making an extravagant show of kissing his hair.

“Bless you, Silver Tongue,” Grantaire whispered, turning to crack open the bottle.

There was a hand on his arm.

“Just…” Jehan trailed, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “Go easy on it, alright R?”

Grantaire’s mouth just stood agape. He didn’t know how to reply. In his current desperate need to get alcohol in his system, the bottle probably wouldn’t last the hour, assuming he could avoid Enjolras. But their leader’s current drunkenness level would probably make it a lot easier.

He was saved from replying by a drunken screeching from across the room.

“’TAIRE! PUT THAT… PUT THE BOTTLE… FUCK. DON’T DRINK THAT!” Enjolras was all but screaming at him, clumsily vaulting chairs as he raced across the room to where the two stood in the kitchen. Apparently, Enjolras couldn’t drop his mission no matter how drunk he got. Really, Grantaire shouldn’t be that surprised.

Enjolras leaned heavily on the doorframe as he tumbled towards them. His hair was sticking up oddly on the one side where Jehan must have run his hands through it earlier. He had lost a few more of the buttons on his shirt, enough that his collarbones were clearly visible. Enjolras must have noticed Grantaire’s wandering gaze because he looked down at himself and fumbled briefly with a button before giving up with an absolutely _adorable_ huff, and looking back up at Grantaire.

It was enough time that Grantaire probably could have gotten the bottle of brandy open and taken a couple swigs if he wasn’t absolutely enthralled with the image of a completely _smashed_ Enjolras.

“Apollo, it pains me to say this, but I can’t in my right, and unfortunately _sober,_ mind let you drink this,” Grantaire said.

“I,” Enjolras swallowed, and shook his head vigorously. “I won’t. Just… don’t drink that.”

“Enj,” Jehan piped in, his voice laced with caution. “You’ve made your point.”

Enjolras blinked slowly a couple times and cocked his head to the side as though he had just noticed Jehan was there. Grantaire took the distraction to reach forward and swipe the cup out of Enjolras’ hand. The drunken leader reacted too slowly as Grantaire immediately downed the contents.

“Why won’t you let me-” Grantaire coughed and gagged. “Fuck, Enjolras, is that BEER? And worse, it’s CHEAP beer! Fuck, that’s nasty. Why the hell are you drinking this on top of everything I’ve been trying to consume?”

Enjolras just shrugged, then gasped as Grantaire desperately tried to wash the taste of beer from his mouth with the brandy.

“Grantaire, NO!” Enjolras shouted with determination, reaching for the bottle in Grantaire’s hand, but the cynic held it away.

“Like I’m fucking going to let you drink it,” Grantaire bit back, but Enjolras had collapsed onto his knees. “Jehan, get him some damn water already before he passes out.”

Jehan shuffled over to the sink and Grantaire dropped down to Enjolras’ level.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras huffed out, making one last ditch effort to reach for the bottle. Grantaire slid it onto the counter above him.

“I won’t drink it,” Grantaire replied, surprising even himself. “If.”

“Anything,” Enjolras replied breathily and Grantaire’s mind reeled. He took a minute to breathe as Enjolras just looked at him expectantly.

“If you tell me why you won’t let me drink it,” Grantaire replied slowly.

Enjolras was close enough that their knees bumped when Enjolras shifted. His eyes were earnest and his face flushed from drinking. He breathed deeply as he held Grantaire’s gaze through his soft eyelashes. Grantaire could have been imagining it, but Enjolras seemed to be leaning towards him. The stench of alcohol was strong and Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ breath warm across his cheekbones. He was consciously aware that the collar of Enjolras’ shirt was starting to slip off one of his shoulders.

For the first time that evening, Grantaire was glad he was sober. Had he any more alcohol in his system, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from kissing Enjolras senseless on the kitchen floor right there and then. As it was, he was struggling. Enjolras let his emotions fall plainly on his normally composed face and it was like he was asking for it, or even waiting for it. His expression was eager, _wanting_ , and it would haunt Grantaire’s dreams for months. He had to remind himself that Enjolras was very drunk.

Then, their leader struggled for a moment, and opened and closed his mouth strangely, as though he was suddenly aware of the sensation of his own tongue.

“How do you do this?” Enjolras asked suddenly, and Grantaire just frowned. “How are you so smart when you’re drunk?”

“I’m wittier without a filter,” Grantaire replied, almost as though it was rehearsed. “And practice. Also, you haven’t answered my question.”

“Because I care about you,” Enjolras said as his brows knit in confusion, as though this was the obvious answer.

“What?” Grantaire asked, still confused.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Enjolras exclaimed, and lunged for Grantaire, but Jehan reeled their leader back in and Grantaire looked on in bewilderment.

“Enjolras,” Jehan warned, nudging a cup of water in his direction. “Behave.”

Their fearless leader sat back on the floor and pouted almost childishly around his cup of water.

“Enjorlas, our dear and brilliant leader,” Jehan began with a hint of sarcasm that made Enjolras petulantly stick out his tongue in the poet’s direction. “Instructed us this evening to… keep an eye on him… yes, keep an eye on him while he partook in an ultimately fruitless and hopelessly foolish endeavour.”

“Which was to ridiculously consume every drink I’ve tried to drink this evening,” Grantaire confirmed.

 “Grantaire?” Enjolras asked suddenly, almost a whisper.

“Yes, Apollo?”

“Will you come home with me?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire spluttered.

“Enjolras!” Jehan exclaimed.

“Excuse me, sorry?” Grantaire managed. “You want what?”

“We need to… talk,” Enjolras said. “Alone.”

“Oh,” Grantaire smirked. “Are you sure that’s all? You are by far the sluttiest drunk I’ve ever seen to be coming on to me. And I keep good company.”

“Hmmm,” Enjolras _purred_. “I think we should talk first. Then _you_ can decide what to do.”

“I can see now why he wanted the rest of you to keep an eye on him,” Grantaire said to Jehan. “I never pegged our leader as being so promiscuous when he’s drunk.”

Grantaire helped Enjolras to his feet with Jehan’s help. Enjolras laughed into Grantaire shoulder.

“’Taire in chaaaaaaaaaarge!!” Enjolras smiled. “See, I can party like Dio… Die oh… Dino… The God of Wine.”

“Does that make me Apollo then?” Grantaire asked jokingly.

“Of course!” Enjolras replied resoundingly, and Grantaire’s knees almost buckled.

It was then that Combeferre came rushing into the kitchen and paused, his brows knit.

“Well this is certainly… I was going to say unexpected, but we literally all called this,” Combeferre said in a rush, addressing Grantaire and Enjolras. He was dragging a clingy Courfeyrac behind him.

“Eponine needs someone to hold her hair in the bathroom,” Combeferre explained, prying Courfeyrac from his arm. “So it’s your turn to deal with this disaster.”

Combeferre pushed Courfeyrac in Jehan’s direction and the poet swallowed as Courf pinned him to the counter, hands already wandering Jehan’s sides.

“Hello!” Courfeyrac cried cheerfully, reaching up to thread Jehan’s hair through his fingers. “Now what to do with you, my lovely little gingerbread?”

Jehan white knuckle gripped the counter behind himself for support and Grantaire hastened their exit. Apparently Apollo wasn’t the only flirty drunk. He tried to avoid thinking what kind of trouble the pair must’ve gotten into when they were younger.

They were outside the apartment when a thought occurred to Grantaire.

“Enjolras, do you have your keys?”

“No, I gave them to Combeferre,” Enjolras replied. “Obviously.”

With a groan, Grantaire returned inside.

He nudged open the ajar bathroom door, only to find Combeferre curled into the corner of the room with Eponine’s head rested in his lap. She was apparently asleep, Combeferre running his fingers gently through her hair.

He stopped when he noticed Grantaire, and adjusted his glasses.

“Hey ‘Ferre, Enjolras said you had his keys?” Grantaire asked.

“Ah, Grantaire, they’re in my pocket. I’ll, ah, move her,” Combeferre explained, but Grantaire gently shook his head.

“It’s fine ‘Ferre,” Grantaire replied. “Take good care of her please.”

“Always,” Combeferre promised with a nod. Grantaire returned it, and went back outside.

Enjolras was frowning, his arms wound tightly around himself.

“Come on then,” Grantaire said, offering his hand. “We’re going back to my place.”

Enjolras smiled lewdly, and wound his slender fingers between Grantaire’s.

Without even kicking off his shoes, Grantaire led them to his bedroom at the back of the apartment. He had intended to tuck Enjolras into bed, but instead the blond slammed the door closed behind them, and pushed Grantaire into the wall.

“Enj, no-” was all Grantaire got out before Enjolras was kissing him. It was sloppy, but pointed, and Grantaire was hyper aware of how Enjolras was craftly using his hips to keep him pinned.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t kiss him back. He’d like to say that their first kiss was romantic and blew his mind away (okay, well sort of), but in all honestly, Enjolras tasted _disgusting._ Not simply because his breath reeked with all the alcohol Grantaire had tried to drink that evening, no, Grantaire was used to that. But because Enjolras tasted like cheap beer. Grantaire had more refined tastes.

With all the patience he had left that evening, Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras and braced his hands against the blonde’s shoulders. However, Enjolras insisted on keeping his feet planted distractingly close to Grantaire, with his fingers tangled in the folds of Grantaire’s sweater. Their mouths were still inches apart.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed. “You’re drunk. I can’t do this.”

Enjolras pouted.

“But I _want_ to!” he whined.

“No, you don’t,” Grantaire replied. “You’re drunk, and you think you want to.”

Enjolras shook his head vehemently and Grantaire sighed.

“Look, as much as you’re making a very convincing argument to fuck you senseless right now,” Grantaire explained and Enjolras squeaked, eyes wide and a hand coming up to cover his mouth. “We don’t all get what we want. If you still want this in the morning in all your hungover glory, then we can talk.”

“But I don’t understand,” Enjolras said, moving Grantaire’s hands to rest on his chest. “You want this. I want this. We can have what we want.”

Grantaire was a person of principals, he reminded himself. He may not believe in anything, but he didn’t go around sleeping with drunk people. It was usually the other way around.

He looked Enjolras straight in the eyes and slipped a finger over the blonde’s lips.

“Okay then…” Grantaire made up on the spot. “Why don’t you… yeah, why don’t you get into bed, and I’ll… I just have to go get something.”

Enjolras nodded enthusiastically and Grantaire fled the room before he lost what control he had left. By the time he came back with a glass of water and Advil, Enjolras was sound asleep in his bed.

~*~

Enjolras woke up in a bed that wasn’t his. What gave it away was that the sheets were way too scratchy and somehow, they were touching every inch of his skin. Further inspection revealed that he was completely naked save his socks.

Groaning through his splitting headache, he took the Advil that was sitting on the messy table next to him and surveyed the room. He paled when his eyes settled upon a very familiar battered sketchbook poking out of an equally battered grey knapsack tossed haphazardly next to a desk piled high with canvases.

He knew _exactly_ where he was.

He was going to murder each and every one of his friends. Individually. And slowly.

What did he do last night? That was a dumb question, he had a strong suspicion what happened last night. But the bed next to him was empty and remarkably undisturbed. For crying out loud, some of Grantaire’s books were still cast around the bed, tangled in the comforter.

With a deep breath, Enjolras rose, pulled the sheet from the bed and tied it around himself. Then he braved the bright daylight in search of Grantaire.

He found the artist messing around on his phone on the couch, dark circles under his eyes. He was still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, Enjolras noticed. Well, as far as his memory went back before it completely blanked.

“Good morning,” Grantaire remarked. “There’s food and more water in the kitchen. I recommend you eat. You’ll feel better.”

Wordlessly Enjolras retrieved his breakfast and curled up on the floor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet,” Grantaire jabbed. “Ever.”

“Forgive me,” Enjolras said quietly. “I don’t really know what to say in these kinds of situations.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “What do you think happened?”

Enjolras just flushed scarlet and Grantaire burst into laughter.

“I’ll save your dignity,” Grantaire replied when he had controlled himself. “You’re pretty, but I understand consent. You were in absolutely no state to give it. But you tried.”

Enjolras groaned and covered his face.

“Really, you did,” Grantaire continued. “So, so hard. You don’t lose your determination when you’re drunk, trust me. I just never pegged you to be that much of a flirt.”

“Can you explain why I’m not wearing any clothes then if nothing happened?” Enjolras asked without making eye contact. He sounded more broken than angry.

“You did that to yourself ‘Pollo,” Grantaire raised his hands in surrender. “I, ah… removed myself from the situation, and when I came back, you were asleep. Checked on you every couple of hours to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit, but you seem to have come out okay.”

Enjolras looked up at Grantaire and tilted his head to the side.

“What?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras just shook his head.

“What,” Grantaire pushed.

“I just…” Enjolras started, dropping his gaze. “When you go home drunk from a meeting, who does that for you?”

Grantaire smiled sadly and waved a dismissive hand.

“I have more practice,” Grantaire explained. “I didn’t know how much you had.”

“You’re a good person, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied suddenly, and the room fell quiet.

Enjolras finished his breakfast in silence, but was stopped from putting away his dishes when Grantaire spoke.

“It was just the alcohol, you know,” he said. “It happens to all of us. It’s okay.”

That gave Enjolras pause. He looked up at Grantaire quizzically.

“Not that it stopped you, but last night I told you that if you really wanted me, you’d still want me in the morning,” Grantaire explained. “And here we are. So! Beauty is in the eye of the drunkard.”

Enjolras smiled at his feet, put away his dishes, and sat next to Grantaire on the couch.

“I believe it’s ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’” he countered. “Otherwise, what an incredible world you must see.”

Grantaire soured at the jibe, and turned his head away from Enjolras.

“Grantaire, I would like to be honest with you,” Enjolras said slowly, carefully. “And I believe you deserve as much after what I put you through last night.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Grantaire replied too quickly, too rehearsed. Enjolras just shook his head and reached out to take one of Grantaire’s hands.

“It’s difficult for me to admit,” Enjolras continued. “How do I…”

Enjolras pressed his lips into a hard line and chanced a glance up at Grantaire’s. The artist wasn’t looking, instead watching the way their fingers tangled together. The moment was quiet and stiflingly intimate. But Grantaire wasn’t backing away, and with a sigh, Enjolras took his chance.

“I don’t remember much after the moonshine,” he admitted quietly, and Enjolras watched Grantaire’s shoulders drop. “However, there is one very pervasive memory that fills the whole void.”

Grantaire’s head snapped up and Enjolras lunged forward to capture his lips. It was bold and he almost missed, but it was barely a brush of lips before Grantaire was pushing him away forcefully. Enjolras toppled backwards.

His heart fell until Grantaire said, “Fuck, Enjolras you taste _so gross._ Go. Go to the bathroom and use my toothbrush and come back.”

With a laugh, Enjolras got up and he heard Grantaire mutter, “I’m gonna have to burn that toothbrush, Jesus.”

Grantaire meets Enjolras in the hallway when the blonde exits the bathroom.

“Hey, Apollo,” Grantaire says casually, but his eyebrows are knitted with concern. “Can you recite the alphabet backwards for me?”

“Fuck off, Grantaire,” Enjolras growls and kisses Grantaire again, with his hands holding either side of his face and giving him no escape.

This, Grantaire would tell people, was their real first kiss. It was heated and desperate and warmed him like he imagined kisses were like in that Harlequin romance Cosette once lent him. Enjolras tasted like Grantaire’s toothpaste, that wasn’t quite as romantic, but the darker, richer taste of hangover still lingered like the ghost of what brought them here. He tugged Enjolras hands down to his shoulders so he could get more leverage and bit at Enjolras’ lip, which startled the blond.

“Fuck,” Enjolras groans.

“I mean I could,” Grantaire admitted, his voice rough. “But don’t you think that’s taking things a little fast?”

Enjolras scoffed and banged his head back against the wall, revealing the sharp lines of his throat, much to Grantaire’s distraction.

When he brought his head back forward, he was looking up and whispering math under his breath.

“Enj, what are you doing?” Grantaire asked.

“How long have we known each other, Grantaire?” he asked urgently.

“You’re not actually considering…” Grantaire trailed off incredulous.

Enjolras tilted his head to the side with a sly smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“I mean, I’m definitely sober this time,” Enjolras admitted, crossing over his heart for good measure. “Albeit hungover. But sex sounds like a much better hangover cure than going back to bed.”

Grantaire just gaped wildly at him.

“Unless of course,” Enjolras reeled, realizing his admission. “Unless that’s way too fast for you. We can go do something else, or forget this whole thing ever happened and I ever opened my stupid mouth…”

Grantaire just shut him up with a kiss and dragged him into the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> CONSENT IS IMPORTANT GUYS.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this ridiculous adventure as much as I did. Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at [fishandchipsandvinegar.](http://fishandchipsandvinegar.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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